THE HURRICANE SEASON. 164 
the case of the “ pink curlew,” I have recognized when 
mere specks in space. 
At dark we entered a crescent-shaped bay and ran 
the boat upon a pebbly beach, which was pierced by 
two rivers as they entered the sea. Overhanging them 
were cocoa palms, shading them almost to the sands, 
while sea-side grapes hung above wave-worn rocks 
and rounded pebbles, and a forest of lime-trees filled 
a narrow valley enclosed between high cliffs. The 
manager of the estate welcomed us with a good 
dinner and comfortable beds in the doctor’s own 
house, which always remained ready for his occu- 
pancy, though he rarely visited it. The next morn- 
ing we whipped the streams with poor success, and 
attacked the sea-birds with scanty returns; in the 
afternoon, my fever returning, and the doctor continu- 
ing his journey, both fish and birds had a rest. 
The valley of Battalie is one great field of lime-trees 
——a smooth sea of verdure — hiding beneath its sur- 
face golden fruit that is constantly dropping to the 
earth, and being carried to the stone mill beneath the 
cliff. Twenty years ago Dr. Imray conceived the 
plan of converting a poorly-paying sugar plantation 
into an orchard of limes, and he thus made of a nar- 
row valley, riven from gigantic rocks and strewn with 
volcanic bowlders, a garden of profit and delight. 
The majority of the trees are fifteen years old; they 
first bear at three years of age, and yield good crops 
at five years. Since the first full crop he has re- 
alized a large income from these trees, his manager 
informing me that during two seasons the returns 
amounted to two thousand pounds sterling each. 
The trees are thickly planted so as to shade the 
